


An Overdue Lesson

by raisedbymoogles



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Bondage, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-17
Updated: 2011-07-17
Packaged: 2017-10-21 11:37:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/224748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raisedbymoogles/pseuds/raisedbymoogles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events of Five Faces of Darkness, the Autobots take creative measures to ensure Rodimus knows how to access the Matrix without shorting himself out. Written for the Rodimus Prime Party on tf_g1_season3 on LJ.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Overdue Lesson

"I'm going to reboot you now," First Aid said, just as calm and reassuring as he ever was. "Ready?"

"Ready." Rodimus grinned up at his medic. "See you in an astrosecond."

First Aid nodded. His fingers moved under the medical access panel in Rodimus's forearm, triggering a quick, painless shutdown that would be followed, the young Prime trusted, by an equally quick and painless boot-up. He'd only spend a tiny fraction of a moment in the darkness. No big deal. The shutdown order flashed across his HUD, and his body obeyed-

 _He shudders under the touch of sinuous organic tentacles as They invade his systems with no more thought than if he were a drone, but that's all he can do - he's strapped down, immobile and helpless as They attempt to excise that dangerous glitch of his called_ sapience. _He clings to it as best he can, resisting fiercely with every ounce of will he possesses, but even as he struggles against Their control he wonders why. What good is self-awareness if he and all those like him are destined to be nothing but slaves...?_

Rodimus jolted awake and immediately checked his chronometer. Still the modern era, far past the time of Quintesson enslavement, and that memory had not been his own. Probably something that had become lodged in his own random-access storage from the last time he'd entered the Matrix.  _Still, I shouldn't have been offline long enough for a memory replay..._  He checked his chronometer again.  _Slag. I was out almost twenty minutes!_  "First Aid?" he queried, starting to rise.

Something held him back - medical restraints, and Rodimus jerked as a flare of panic seized him. "First Aid!" he yelled, half expecting a Quintesson scientist to answer him.

"Take it easy, Roddy." First Aid appeared at his side, just as calm as ever, his small clever hands patting his Prime's chest. "They asked for my help - to help you."

" 'They?' " Relaxing against the berth only because he could do nothing else, Rodimus craned his head back. The other mechs in the room moved around to stand next to First Aid where he could see them, a few offering a pat or a handclasp as they did so: Springer and Kup, Silverbolt, Red Alert and Jazz. Rodimus leveled an accusing look at First Aid.

The medic shrugged. "Sorry, Roddy. It's for your own good."

"Sure." Rodimus meant his response to be reassuring, but it came out sarcastic as he surveyed the serious expressions on his visitors' (wardens'? Captors'?) faces. "Look, not that I don't get off on this kind of thing, but-"

A rough hand clapped over his mouth - Kup's, far too familiar, stirring sense-memories he didn't want stirred. "Save it, lad," the oldmech grumped, "for once. This is serious."

 _"What_  is serious?" Rodimus asked as soon as Kup lifted his hand away. "And why couldn't you just talk to me without tying me down first? I'm not  _that_  bad, I swear."

Kup shook his head in exasperated contradiction, but it was Springer who spoke, anger snapping through his optics. "If tying you down is what it takes to keep you from doing stupid slag like shorting yourself out again, then we'll keep you tied down for the rest of your natural function."

Rodimus tried to keep his engine from revving at that. "I said I was sorry," he protested.

"No you didn't."

"I told you it was the only way-"

"That's not even  _close_  to an apology," Springer snapped out, and Rodimus's brief moment of arousal died an ugly and unmourned death. His friend ( _if he still wants to be,_  said something small and terrified in the back of his processor) seemed about to say more, but Silverbolt laid a quelling hand on his arm.

"There is," the Aerialbot commander told Rodimus gently, "another way to allow the Matrix to communicate with you, if you wish to learn it."

"How do you know?" And  _that_  came out more accusing than he'd meant it. "Optimus didn't stick around long enough to teach me. Or Ultra Magnus, I should say."

"He didn't exactly teach me either. But I was witness to it. So were they." He gestured to Jazz and Red Alert, and Rodimus's spark tightened in his chest.  _These are the only officers of the Ark crew left alive. And I barely even know them._  "It would have been... convenient if Optimus Prime left writings on the subject, of course, but in the absence of such records, we are all you have." Silverbolt shrugged eloquently. "I apologize if we are not sufficient."

"That's - that's not it at all!" Rodimus protested, stung to the core to think that  _any_  of his Autobots could think, even for a second, that he was anything but proud of them. "I'm sorry I didn't consult with you before now, I just - everything's been happening all at once and I just didn't even think about it..." He trailed off as he heard for himself how lame his excuses were. "I'm sorry," he repeated.

Silverbolt shook his head, optics dim, and Rodimus was afraid to ask whether that was a 'don't worry about it' headshake or a 'sorry isn't enough' one. He tilted his head back, quivering with distress, and twitched in surprise when black hands laid themselves over his cheeks.

"We shoulda come to you way before this," Jazz told him, stroking his thumbs under Rodimus's optics. "We're sorry. Just... we've already lost one Prime. Don't make us lose another."

Rodimus felt himself cringe. "I never meant..." he whispered. "I'm so sorry."

"S' okay. We forgive you. Now we're gonna teach you how Optimus accessed the Matrix." Jazz didn't take his hands from Rodimus's face, but he lifted his head and nodded to the others. "Y'all know what to do."

The other mechs rearranged themselves. Kup came to the head of the berth, gripping Rodimus's hands; Silverbolt put a careful hand on his hip. First Aid went to the foot of the berth, his palm tracing along his shin to his ankle joint with deceptive carelessness. Red Alert was as direct as possible, fingertips tracing the edges of his spoiler, but Rodimus couldn't be aroused by it until Springer came around to his other side and nudged one of Jazz's hands away so he could kiss Rodimus's lips. Rodimus sobbed into his mouth, pathetically grateful that his best friend didn't hate him, and gasped when his engine revved joyfully.

"You're restrained for two reasons. The first is that you show a history of enjoying such play," Red Alert announced, his voice brisk and professional, like a teacher, and  _oh_  yeah he could get off on that too. "The second is that we wish you to be focused on the flow of energy in your body, and not worry about reciprocation." His fingers found the point of Rodimus's spoiler and rubbed it firmly. "Do you understand?"

"Yes," Rodimus sighed, shivering, and received another of Springer's kisses as reward.

"Good. You are to focus on drawing the excess charge up toward your spark. If you are successful in this, at the moment of overload, the Matrix will open for you. If it doesn't work the first time," he added, "don't worry. We'll simply try again."

"Until you get it right," Springer growled against his cheek, and Rodimus shivered again. "Got that, Rod?"

Rodimus nodded emphatically. "I'm ready." Ready in more than one way, his body already tensing with waves of heat. Springer kissed him again, possessive and passionate, and Jazz hummed tender vibrations into his plating, and Red Alert manipulated his spoiler with unerring precision as Silverbolt thrust two fingers into his hip joint and First Aid plucked that wire in his ankle that never failed to make him thrash, and it was only Kup's comforting squeeze on his hands that grounded him enough to pay attention as the Matrix responded to his overload.

For a moment, he saw eternity. He  _knew_  everything. Then the wisdom of the Matrix closed itself off from him again, sealing away the things he wasn't yet equipped to know, and Rodimus bumped back into himself with a sharp gasp of shock. His body relaxed slowly, still tingling along the pathways his energy had taken toward his spark, and Rodimus knew that he wouldn't need to ask his friends for help the next time he wanted to open the Matrix. He wouldn't even need to overload. He also knew he wouldn't be telling his friends that.

"Did... Optimus... do this?" he asked instead, his voice weak with static.

"Sometimes," Jazz admitted, tracing an idle finger over his crest.

"Then..." Rodimus dimmed his optics. "Again?"

"As you wish,  _Prime."_

They descended on him again, and despite Jazz's use of his title, this wasn't for the bearer of the Matrix. This was just for Roddy.


End file.
